Hello Kitty Footie Pajamas
by thegeeky1
Summary: Loras decides to surprise his king with a gift. Cracky but wholesome; just trust me on this one. Sulky!Renly/TooCleverForHisOwnGood!Loras/VeryPink!Pajamas. Margaery shows up eventually.
1. The Mummer's Farce

**A/N: **This fic is, as they say, "inspired by true events", but the inspiration is rather tangential. Plaudits go to His Holiness GRRM, Sanrio, "Ramble Girl", and my lovely beta for all they've done. You're the best.

* * *

They had been expecting him. In fact, they had been preparing for his arrival for the past two days. Every night that he didn't visit them, they became more and more indignant. They thought they knew what it meant, of course. It meant that Loras Tyrell considered them the sixth-most-organized mummer's troupe in and around Renly's camp. The sixth of six.

Still, they were all bows and curtsies and "Sers" as Loras entered their disheveled little gathering. In truth, Loras knew little about the relative merits of the mummer's troupes that had attached themselves to Renly's army. Renly had always been the one to enjoy the mummer's performances: the stories, the pageantry, the way the mummers slipped into their roles as easily as they slipped into their costumes. Loras didn't much care. He usually spent the time practicing the sword with some of the other knights, the ones who weren't distracted by mummer's farces from the war that was to come. _Better mummer's farces than wenching_, thought Loras. _The money spent on _that_ might go straight to Littlefinger, for all we know_.

"Ser Loras," said the handsome man sitting closest to Loras, rising from the stool he had been perched on. His long hair was dyed a farcical blue, perhaps in imitation of Pentoshi custom, though his light skin gave the ruse away. "We are delighted to see you. What brings you to our humble encampment?"

Loras bit down an unnecessarily rude comment. To keep Renly's army together, it meant _everyone _had to be happy, from the king down to the lowest camp follower. Instead, Loras assumed his fourth-most-charming smile, and replied, innocently, "I don't believe that will be necessary. But there may be something you can help me with. We need… a costume."

"A costume?" said the blue-haired man, a look of surprise on his face. "Why, whatever for?"

He knew what it was for. If he hadn't already, the man was a blithering idiot, and the mummer's troupe _was _the sixth-most-organized mummer's troupe of Renly's encampment. After all, Loras had already asked the five other troupes for the same thing. A maiden's cloak, the sort that a bride would wear on her wedding day and then shed in favor of a similar cloak with her husband's colors. Renly's own troupe of mummers—the ones who played only at the pleasure of the king—were lacking one, Loras had been saying, and they quite simply had to have one for the next performance of "The Marriage of the Braavosi Banker".

It was well-known that "The Marriage of the Braavosi Banker" was one of Renly's favorite plays. Loras hoped that the reason why it was one of Renly's favorite plays—the kiss shared between the Braavosi banker and his erstwhile "bride", really a male bard from Dorne—was not so well known. The previous troupe that had performed it for Renly had seemed to know something of the truth of it, though. The kiss shared by the two actors, which was supposed to be a chaste peck on the cheek, lasted a bit long. Even _Loras _had to look away in distaste. No, Loras never intended that the play actually be staged, not so close to the upcoming wedding. He needed the maiden's cloak for… other plans of his.

The mummer managed to locate a number of maiden's cloaks a bit too quickly for chance. No mummer's troupe would be without a maiden's cloak or five; weddings were always a common theme for performances. But the maiden's cloaks they had were just so _dull_, which presented a problem. They had beautiful floral trims and simple sigils of geometric figures or insipid little birds. Loras needed a maiden's cloak that would make Renly laugh at the ridiculousness of it. Worst of all were the cloaks with flowers on them. That would just remind Renly of the wedding.

Unfortunately for Loras, this troupe was no different. As the blue-haired man continued "discovering" maiden's cloaks with a remarkable alacrity, Loras kept shooting them down.

A plain white cloak, embroidered with a yellow sun? "Not what we're looking for."

A flowing red cloak, with a small blue lake on it? "No."

A short, ornate cloak, emblazoned with seven colors, with a white teardrop? This gave Loras pause. It certainly was ridiculous enough, and looked like nothing out of Westeros. But it still lacked… something. And it would be a bit odd for the man who created the Rainbow Guard to be wearing such a thing. Renly might actually think it had been made for him. "Not that one, but… something along those lines, perhaps?"

The blue-haired man's eyebrows furrowed briefly, then he smiled. "Ah!" said the man. "I know just what you need."

He went back and rummaged a bit through the troupe's clothes—and, this time, the rummaging didn't seem to be merely feigned—until he pulled out a single garment. "From the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai," announced the blue-haired man. "It is said that this garment is used by sorcerers when making their most sacred spells."

"I guess the Shadow Lands are less shadowy than I thought," said Loras. "Shadowy" was not a word that could ever be used to describe the piece of clothing. It was an impossibly bright pink, for one. So bright, in fact, that Loras couldn't imagine where in the world it would have come from; that shade shouldn't have been possible. Margaery would likely know.

It wasn't at all a maiden's cloak, either. The… robe?... seemed designed with a man in mind, with long pant legs attached to a form-fitting torso. The garment seemed to go around the feet, too. Perhaps it was used to travel over rough ground, though Loras could hardly imagine it affording the wearer with a very stable grip. The one thing it did have in common with a maiden's cloak was the sigil on the chest that reminded Loras vaguely of a face. The face, though, had some lines coming out of its sides. Whiskers, perhaps? Was it supposed to be a man? The feet, too, were emblazoned with the sigil for reasons Loras couldn't fathom. Just as importantly, of course: it was Renly's size.

"This is just what we are looking for," said Loras, smiling again. "What sum do we owe you to compensate you for this fine… garment?"

"How could I ask for any monetary reward?" asked the blue-haired man. "I live to serve my king. Please, Ser, take this to His Grace as a gift, on my behalf. And, should he ever be looking for a new troupe to supplant the so-called players he currently employs…"

"Yes, yes," said Loras, "The King shall hear of your generosity, to be sure." _Smart man_, thought Loras. _Though Renly is too fond of his "players" to get rid of them so quickly. Margaery has been looking for a singer, though…_

The man bowed slightly, and Loras took his leave. Yes, perhaps Loras could cheer Renly up after all.


	2. The Maiden's Cloak

**A/N: **This fic is, as they say, "inspired by true events", but the inspiration is rather tangential. Plaudits go to His Holiness GRRM, Sanrio, "Ramble Girl", and my lovely beta for all they've done. You're the best.

* * *

_Here in the sight of gods and men,_ thought Renly, _I do solemnly proclaim Renly of House Baratheon and Margaery of House Tyrell to be man and wife, one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever, and cursed be the one who comes between them. Two weeks, gods, _two weeks.

He was moping. He knew that. It was a bad habit of his, and had been since he was young. Robert raged, Stannis seethed, and Renly… moped. At first, Maester Cressen had attempted to reason with Renly, to explain to him what little good his sulking did him, but he soon stopped. The passage of time was usually enough to make Renly forget the nice set of clothes that someone hadn't bought him, the cruel jest Robert had made at Renly's expense, Stannis's disdainful stares, and even the lingering sense of discomfort Renly felt every time a girl seemed to want to do more than just idly flirt with him.

But this was something different. This was something worse. This was something that couldn't be undone, it just couldn't. And so the unending litany and the sitting there moping on his bed… _one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever, and cursed be the one who comes between them_.

"…discussion of strategy," said a muffled voice from outside the tent. Loras's voice. _The one who comes between them_. "Together."

"At once, ser," came the voice of one of Renly's guards, and the shadows of the guards around Renly's tent shrank as the men moved away. Loras quickly entered the tent, shutting the tent flap behind him to keep out the night's chill.

"Ser Loras," said Renly, rising from where he lay. "Here to discuss plans for the war?"

"No, my king," said Loras, "I've come to pray."

"Prayer?" asked Renly, quickly. "So… so soon?" He looked out towards the front of his tent again. His guards did seem further away than they were previously, but they were so close.

Renly couldn't recall which of them had started using 'prayer' to refer to their… encounters… first. Neither of them had much use for the real thing. Sure, Renly prayed aloud when it was right and proper, observed the customs of the Seven when it was necessary, but never really found there to be a point in what he was doing. As for Loras, Renly sometimes suspected he had only one god—not R'hllor, but Loras Tyrell.

"What?" said Loras, smiling at him impudently. "Worried?" Loras followed Renly's gaze towards the front of the tent, then turned back to Renly. "No need for that, I think. Besides, I have something for you," he said, moving next to Renly's bed and placing a small bundle next to it, then taking off his shoes and hopping onto the bed.

_Funny_, thought Renly, _I didn't even notice he was holding anything_. Renly grinned at his lover like an idiot. "What kind of something?"

"Why don't you come up here and find out?" said Loras.

Renly needed little incentive to join Loras. He immediately jumped up next to Loras, and gave him a winning smile. "So…?"

Loras smiled back at him. But he paused a moment before saying, "You… you know that I think you're wonderful."

"Thank you!" said Renly, pleased. "I do, too."

Loras seemed a bit taken aback. "That's… very self-respecting of you."

"Oh," said Renly, a bit abashed. "I like you, too."

"Well, good then," said Loras. "I, er, I…" What an odd situation. Loras was rarely tongue-tied. "I, well, with the, uh, ceremony that's happening soon…"

That was a slap to the face. Renly's mood darkened immediately, and his smile faded. He had managed to avoid thinking about the upcoming… festivities… for longer than he had since the last time Loras and he had prayed together, and suddenly Loras brings them up of his own volition?

"…I, er, I mean," Loras said, "I thought I could make things a little better for you. So I got you a gift."

"Well?" said Renly, sulkily. "What… gift?"

"You'll like it! I promise!" said Loras. "It's a piece of clothing!"

Renly perked up a bit at that. He did like looking good, and Loras had the best taste. And, if Loras had gotten it himself, well, perhaps he'd like to see Renly wearing it. "What sort of clothing?"

"Well, I thought maybe we could prepare for... the event…" said Loras, quickly, noticing the slight darkening of Renly's mood at the mention even of an 'event', "…by having you try on a maiden's cloak. You know." Loras smiled at Renly again. "For practice."

A maiden's cloak wasn't exactly what Renly was expecting, but he was intrigued anyway. "A maiden's cloak? Wouldn't that be more appropriate for you? I'm not the one who's wearing a cloak at the… event… after all."

Loras grinned at him cheekily. "I don't know. I mean, of either of us here, I think you'd be the maiden. It wasn't me who was the maiden before—"

"Hey!" said Renly. "And don't you start talking about your beautiful septon-in-training, either. What's his name, ah—"

"Wat," said Loras, clearly relishing the chance to lord this over Renly, as he always did. "With the bluest eyes and the kindest smile and the shapeliest calves. Have I ever told you about him?"

"Yes," said Renly, giving Loras a flat-eyed stare. "Once. Or twice." Perhaps it was Loras who had introduced the term 'prayer' into their vocabulary, thanks to his Wat.

Loras laughed and put his arm around Renly's shoulders, pressing a kiss to Renly's temple. "Perhaps a few times. And perhaps I was wrong about his smile being the _most _kindly."

Renly smiled despite himself and took Loras's hand in his. "You were saying? About the gift?"

"Oh, right," said Loras. He dropped Renly's hand and scooted over to the far side of the bed to reach down to the garment he had put there earlier. Renly smiled with anticipation. Where would one get a maiden's cloak, anyway? And what would it look like?

The latter question was answered when Loras put the piece of clothing on the bed between, unfurling it carefully. "It's not really a maiden's cloak," he explained, "but I thought it would work just as well."

It wasn't a maiden's cloak, that was for sure. It wasn't even like anything Renly had seen before. It had two long legs and was clearly designed to fit the body quite snugly. On the chest, and the feet—the feet!—of the thing, there was some sort of strange symbol, reminiscent of a mask. Most strikingly of all, of course, was the fact that it was a blindingly bright pink. Renly had always been fond of green, and perhaps Baratheon yellow. Pink was out of the question. All things considered, Renly considered retching on the spot. But Loras was smiling at him, and he supposed he had to say something. "It's… uh… it's, very…"

"Wonderful! It's great, isn't it? You'll wear it, won't you?" said Loras. He seemed so eager, so excited, that Renly's heart broke. _He actually thinks I would like this thing_, thought Renly.

"You should wear it now!" Loras exclaimed.

"Now?" said Renly. He felt his face paling slightly.

"Yes, now!" said Loras, positively brimming with excitement. As Renly scooted off the bed slightly to stand up and get the garment on, Loras egged him on by slapping his butt and saying, "Go ahead! Gods, you'll look hot!"

Renly wasn't quite sure what had possessed Loras to take leave of his senses. Sure, Loras was a passionate person, prone to fits of grandiose emotion. But waxing rhapsodic about the… the… garment every time Renly took something off, rather than about Renly himself? Loras was never shy about what parts of Renly's body he liked best, and his shoulders usually won Renly at least an approving hoot. But instead Loras kept up with the excitement about the… cloak.

Once Renly had finally got the cloak on, putting the hood of the thing over his head, he stood there sheepishly and climbed back into bed. "Well?" said Loras, expectantly. "What do you think?"

"I, er..." said Renly. "It's… very…. it's… yeah… um… it has… an… interesting fabric…" It did, Renly supposed. It was a good deal softer than he was used to. But what was Loras thinking? The thing was hideous, not to mention a little loose around the chest and rather tight around the ankles and feet.

Loras's smile became less eager for a moment. _Uh oh_, thought Renly, _this is bad. I think he actually likes this… thing_.

"…and it's also wonderful! I can't imagine anything better than this!" said Renly, attempting to summon up as much enthusiasm as he could muster. Inspiration suddenly came to him. "In fact, I think this… robe… makes me feel a bit more pious just putting it on. Perhaps we should pray."

Loras seemed a bit surprised at the transformation that had been wrought in Renly. Perhaps Renly had played it up a bit too strongly. "Really? You're sure?"

"Of course I'm sure!" said Renly, grinning broadly. "Look at me now! In this robe, I feel like a man in need of salvation! Immediately!"

"You mean, you like it?" said Loras, his words taking on an edge of desperation. He must have been worried that Renly wouldn't like the thing, and for good reason. "You actually like it?"

"Yes, naturally," said Renly, "and it has made me so ready for prayer. So very ready."

Renly felt like he was laying it on far too thick, but the worried look drained slowly from Loras's face, replaced by a wan smile. "Then, I'm glad you like it… I suppose. If it really makes you happy."

"Gods, yes. We should pray. We really should. Look at this robe, and with me in it. I can't imagine anything better," said Renly, nodding forcefully.

Loras seemed to get the message. "Gods, Renly, the way you look in it!" He paused a moment. "I just need to tear it right off you, here and now!" He really seemed to be getting into it. What sort of twisted mind had Loras acquired? Certainly, it was Loras who did most of the initiation between them – it was he, so many years ago, who first kissed Renly, he who had banished the confusion from Renly's mind born of years of rejected suitors. Renly tried to accommodate some of Loras's more interesting quirks. They were just a part of being in love with a man who felt the world owed him something from the day he was born. But this? Something so _pink_?

"Now, Loras, now!" said Renly. He decided to start by taking off the hood of the cloak, then fumbled at the strange fastener running down the middle of the chest. Interesting contraption; he had never seen its like before. Loras fumbled at the thing, and together they shoved it down, revealing Renly's bare chest. Before too long, neither of them were thinking much about the strange pink cloak, the upcoming wedding, or much of anything at all.


	3. The Night before the Wedding

**A/N: **This fic is, as they say, "inspired by true events", but the inspiration is rather tangential. Plaudits go to His Holiness GRRM, Sanrio, "Ramble Girl", and my lovely beta for all they've done. You're the best.

* * *

Loras strode towards Renly's tent, his jaw clenched. The guards stepped back from the door. One of them, with long red hair, smiled at him knowingly; a bit too knowingly, in Loras's estimation. He would have to see they were rotated to a different assignment. After making sure they moved themselves away, even further then usual, he stepped inside the tent.

There lay Renly Baratheon the First of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, face-down on his bed, moaning. Loras fought the urge to roll his eyes.

Loras was not built equipped to deal with misery. The War of the Usurper had happened in the first two years of his life; and, though House Tyrell had fought for the losing side, and had even kept Stannis Baratheon at bay for months, they had been treated well. Loras's childhood was filled with balls and feasts and parties. Certainly the world was not a perfect place, but it was not a particularly dismal one, either. So Loras had discovered he was quite unprepared for Renly's grief about his upcoming nuptials. In the few situations where he had to deal with such situations in the past, Loras had often said what he imagined Willas would have said, were Willas in Loras's shoes. But Willas had likely never had to comfort a grieving male lover about that lover's wedding.

In public, Renly was still his bright self, but in private, the times that were supposed to be _Loras's _times, he was completely different. Just a couple days prior, Loras had come into his room only to discover Renly attempting to balance accounts. _Renly_. Balancing _accounts_. When Loras had attempted to disrupt Renly, Renly had just shrugged him off and said he had "very important work to do".

This time, at least, he wasn't doing that. And so Loras sat down on the bed next to him, dangling his feet off the bed, waiting for Renly to say something. Fortunately, it didn't take long.

"I'm getting married tomorrow," said Renly, gloomily, to his pillow. "I'm getting married tomorrow."

"Yes, my king," said Loras. "That is usually what is expected of you at your wedding. Not that I'm an expert on such matters."

"Tomorrow," said Renly, turning his head around dramatically to look at Loras. His eyes were slightly pink and a bit puffy. "I'm getting married."

"…yes," said Loras. "And you're looking scruffy. You need to trim up your beard. My sweet sister would never marry someone looking as savage as you." When Loras had proposed making Renly look more presentable, Renly had acquiesced mildly, but he had been nigh apoplectic when Loras told him that meant the beard should go, too, so it stayed and the rest went.

"Married to your sister," said Renly. "Will you ever forgive me for doing this to you, Loras? Will you ever forgive me?"

"Yes, married to my sister," said Loras, surprised to find that his voice was becoming a bit more heated. The days of complaining were starting to get to him. "Married to my sister, like we _agreed _should be done. Like we agreed to have happen, after I helped think of the idea. We'll be bound by blood. _Think _of it, Renly. We _agreed_ to this."

"I… I… it's just…" said Renly, hesitantly, "it just feels like I'm betraying you. With your own sister! Your sister!"

Loras sighed, and looked Renly straight on. "Renly, look. We came up with this plan together, she and I. You _know _that. And you know that we won't hold anything against each other." Anything. They had talked about it and agreed. Renly needed an heir, Renly needed Loras, and that was that. That had probably been one of the hardest things for Renly to understand, the fact that he and Margaery had thought about it and talked about it together and agreed it was for the best. _If only he had had better brothers than he did_, thought Loras, _he might be a bit more tractable_.

"But, I could stay unmarried!" said Renly. "Look at Brynden Tully!"

"Brynden Tully is the _brother _of a _Lord_," said Loras, "and you are a King. So act like it. You need an heir, that much is clear. You don't want the throne going to _Joffrey_, do you?"

At the mention of his nephew, Renly's face lost a bit of its stubborn cast, but he still seemed morose. "But… but… I could… I could name someone else my heir. Like, like…"

"…who?" said Loras, mockingly. "Stannis? If he's to be believed, Joffrey's not even your nephew at all. Perhaps he would be your rightful heir."

Renly looked hurt, and Loras immediately regretted his words. "I could name someone else my heir," repeated Renly. "I could."

Loras sighed again, taking his lover's hand in his. "You will marry my sister tomorrow. You will produce an heir. And I will make you forget all of that tonight."

Renly attempted to lift an eyebrow at him while still pouting, making him look like he had some odd variety of greyscale. "How could you think I'm in the mood for prayer, with, with, _this _hanging over our heads?"

"Oh, I don't think you're in the mood for prayer," said Loras, leaning in towards Renly and putting his lips next to Renly's ear. "I think you're in the mood for a nice, good _fuck_," whispered Loras.

Renly jerked back, his eyes widening. "L- Loras!" he sputtered. "You can't- you shouldn't- I'm, I'm getting-"

"Yes, yes," said Loras. "You're getting married tomorrow. I heard you. And, if you're worried about what I just said, don't be. Let them hear." Loras was a man of action. He took off his pants in a couple of swift motions.

For a moment, a brief moment that gave Loras a bit of hope, Renly seemed to reconsider his previous bad mood. Then his face returned to its previous sulk. "No. Don't you think I'll just go and _pray_ with you now, Ser Loras Tyrell."

_The things I do for love_, thought Loras. He put a hand lightly on Renly's chest and restrained himself from sighing. "What if we got this shirt off you and put you in that… pink cloak?"

He had really meant to have stopped suggesting they use the thing. He hadn't even meant to make it last beyond its unveiling; his plan was to bring it out, suggest Renly try it on, get a laugh out of him, and move on. But Renly had played along with it so well—or, at least, Loras had _thought _Renly was playing along with it—that he kept it going. The second time Loras had brought it out, Renly's had reacted so positively that Loras figured he couldn't've been joking. The third time, Renly himself had been the one to bring out the cloak, claiming that he was only wearing it for _Loras's _sake. At that point, Loras was seriously considering laughing in Renly's face and informing Renly he had only bought it as a lark to see Renly's reaction, but imagining the hurt look that Renly would give him prevented him from doing so.

That left this time. Desperate times called for desperate measures. The wedding of one's lover to one's sister definitely counted as a desperate time, and the wearing of an absurdly pink cloak-that-covers-ones-feet—does such a thing have a word?—was certainly a desperate measure, and there was nothing more to it.

Renly gave him a flat stare, but Loras kept looking at him, attempting to look patiently hopeful. The "patient" part was the challenging bit of it. Finally, Renly relented. "If you insist."

It wasn't much to go on, of course, but it was more than nothing. Loras's hand dropped to his side before he turned around and went to one of the trunks stuffed with clothes by Renly's bed. There, in one of them, buried a bit under some shirts—but not too buried, mind you, because Loras sincerely hoped some washerwoman would find it and discard it—was the pink cloak. Loras brought it over to Renly. The two of them stared at it for a moment.

"Oh, Loras, are you sure you don't want to wear it yourself?" said Renly. "You would look so… splendid."

"No, no," said Loras. "It's yours, please." _...so you put it away and never look at it again_, he thought to himself.

"Oh, good," said Renly. "I was hoping I'd… get another crack at it."

The two of them took off Renly's shirt, Loras helping Renly free Renly's arms from his sleeves. He took the opportunity to steal a quick kiss from Renly, which elicited a wan smile. _At least this pink cloak has done that to him_, thought Loras. Then, more quickly, Renly's pants slid off, and he was soon in the pink cloak. Sitting there, Loras thought Renly looked a bit like a newly-hatched chick, admittedly a chick of a startlingly vivid coloration.

"I… I… gods, Loras, look at me," said Renly, smiling.

"Yes," said Loras, trying to smile back. "Renly, by the gods. I have never… never seen you… more radiant."

Renly just nodded, apparently caught up in the moment. The two of them sat there for a moment, before Loras pressed another kiss to Renly's lips. The kiss went on for longer than Loras expected, before Renly broke it. "Let's… let's get me out of this cloak, shall we?"

"Yes," said Loras. "Yes! It's gotten me so worked up. Wonderful idea!"

"Great!" said Renly.

Loras practically ripped the cloak off of Renly's back, leaving the older man lying there in his underclothes. Loras was about to take those off, too, when Renly put a hand on Loras's forearm.

"Loras…" said Renly, tentatively. He was still smiling, which Loras supposed was an improvement, but his voice sounded hesitant. "Loras, can we… can… uh…"

Loras looked up at him. "Yes, Renly?"

"Can we just lie here, for a while? You and I?" said Renly.

"Without… prayer?" said Loras. _Gods, perhaps I was wrong about him_, thought Loras, _but _I _need a good fuck right about now_.

"Please?" asked Renly. "Just, just for a bit. I… I'm worried, Loras. I'm just, worried."

"Alright then," said Loras. "Let's do that." And so he did, until Renly fell asleep in his arms.


	4. Death by Fire is the Purest Death

**A/N: **This fic is, as they say, "inspired by true events", but the inspiration is rather tangential. Plaudits go to His Holiness GRRM, Sanrio, "Ramble Girl", and my lovely beta for all they've done. You're the best.

* * *

When Margaery was young, she had shared a little toy knight twith Loras. The little knight came with his own little horse, and it was perfect for staging little adventures, because the toy knight was plain enough to be anyone; Garth Greenhand or Symeon Star-Eyes earning glory for Loras, Jonquil or Galladon saving maidens for Margaery. Sometimes Margaery liked to replace the knight with a _girl _doll and pretend she was Nymeria, conquering all of Dorne. But only sometimes. Once, Willas had walked in—well, _limped_ in, by that point—on her and her Nymeria blazing a path of destruction through some of the rebellious southlanders, and he had laughed and laughed when Margaery explained the situation. After that, Margaery had always checked to make sure there was no one around.

The little toy knight was dear to both of them, but they started to outgrow it. In fact, they were old enough to have entirely outgrown it when their father happened to chance upon it and proposed getting rid of the doll. Neither of them wanted to see it thrown away, so they both hastily insisted it be kept.

Then, seeing the other sibling's reaction to its potential demise, possession of the doll suddenly became of the utmost importance. Margaery and Loras started trying to outdo each other in their praise for the doll. That occurred not so much because either of them wanted it but because each sibling wanted to make sure the other didn't lose it. In the end, the two of them had talked to each other and quietly dropped the issue, and the doll was forgotten once more.

Forgotten, that is, until a similar situation surfaced once more, in the form of a bright pink cloak.

Loras and Margaery had always been close. All the Tyrell siblings were close, of course; Willas was clever and could always be counted on to help when Margaery wanted to know more about her lessons, and Garlan was brave and strong. But Loras, Loras was a constant in Margaery's life. They were each other's foils, playmates, and secret-keepers.

When Loras rushed up to her one day when he was 11 and spoke in stumbling but enthusiastic tones that "me and Gareth," one of his favorite sparring partners, "we, we, we were talking to each other, and smiling, and then he, and then we, we...", Margaery had supplied, helpfully, the word "kissed" to finish out the sentence. It was really no surprise. She had seen how he looked at the other boys, and, moreso, how he failed to look at the girls around him.

So, as Loras started exploring the things that his gorgeous brown curls could get the boys around him to do, he started sharing details with Margaery. Obliquely, to be sure, and nothing that Margaery found _too _distasteful, but details nonetheless. (Margaery tried to reply in kind, but Loras had always been far braver than her. Loras just wanted an audience, in any case.) When Loras moved to Storms' End, the practice had continued by correspondence, the two of them using code-words and insinuations to get their points across.

It was really no surprise that Loras had fallen for the man he squired for. Though Loras had his dalliances, he was ultimately drawn to powerful men. Not to their power in and of itself, but to the thought that these were the men who were his equals, who deserved his love. Much to Loras's surprise, and to Margaery's, it had turned out that Renly had felt in kind.

After Loras and Margaery's joyful reunion, they had settled back into their old ways. One day, not too long ago, Loras had come to her to whine. He told her he had bought an obscenely bright pink garment, a cloak of a sorts, with strange leggings and an unrecognizable house sigil on it, intending it as a joke to lighten Renly's mood. Instead, the man had seemed to _like _the thing, treasuring it and demanding it be brought out, supposedly on behalf of Loras. And now Loras was miserable.

And Renly? Margaery had stumbled on him one evening, on one of the nights she had hoped he would finally fulfill his marital duties, brooding over the pink cloak. She feigned shock. "My husband, what is that _thing_?"

He had stood up straight, his face the very picture of mortification. "My lady wife! How, how good to see you!"

"My lord husband," she said, giving him a chaste kiss on the cheek. Today was a day to try at demure sweetness. "That was not an answer to my question. What is that, that garment?"

"Simply a... cloak. Meant for... religious purposes. It helps me in my prayers," Renly said, obviously flustered.

Margaery suppressed a chuckle. _'Prayers' indeed._ "Have you become a Summer Islander, my lord husband? Giving up on the Iron Throne already?"

"No, my lady. Not ever," he said lightly. "A gift from a dear friend. I fear it holds little interest to me for my own sake. I keep it because of the sentiments of the one who gave me it."

"Oh," said Margaery, her eyes widening. "A rival for my husband's affections? How fast my heart beats!" She put a hand tenderly to his cheek. "Convince me my feminine sentiments are misguided!"

"You do not need convincing," said Renly, quietly taking her hand in his and putting it back by her side. "My love for you is absolute and boundless, more than mine for any other woman." he had a small frown on his face, and his gaze was directed at a point far away. "But I cannot part with this cloak. I wish I could, but, I... cannot."

So that was why Margaery kept coming back to the little toy knight. They both clearly ended up hating the pink cloak, but neither of them could part from it for fear of the reaction of the other. Renly needed Loras, Loras needed Renly, and Margaery needed the two of them. They were her boys, her two pink cloak boys, and she had to make sure they stayed happy. And this piece of clothing was standing in the way.

Tonight, though, that would change. She had made sure Renly was out of the tent, in some sort of strategy meeting with some lords in the depths of the night. She strode into his tent, briskly making her way to the chests that contained Renly's clothing, holding a bundle of clothes close to herself. She hoped he had kept the pink cloak in the chest she had seen open when Renly had been sighing over the garment. She opened the chest, and, in a stroke of luck, found it quickly, near the top of the chest. Taking it out, she folded it into a ball and wrapped it inside an old, torn dress of hers, making it into a bundle. Then she strewed some of Renly clothes from the opened chest on the ground, making sure to lay a nice, lacy slip of hers next to the bed. There. Even if smarter heads would realize he was in a meeting, perhaps she could count on the gossip of washerwomen to ensure there were some positive rumors swirling around camp for a change.

Margaery walked to the tent where some of Renly's servants waited. When she swooped in, the assembled servants—a skeleton crew, really—stood up, bowing and curtseying and uttering a respectful "Your Grace". Margaery had to hand it to Renly; where smallfolk were concerned, he treated them with respect, and in turn his servants performed dutifully and well. Their respect translated over to her upon their marriage.

"Baela," she said, addressing herself to the stout washerwoman sitting next to the door. "Renly's clothes are far overdue for a wash. If you could, make sure the clothes are washed before the next day?"

"Yes, Your Grace," said Baela, "Right away." She curtsied and scurried off. That was another good thing about the servants trained in service to Lord Renly Baratheon: they knew to not ask too many questions and to obey quickly.

Margaery bid the other servants good night, then walked off on a quest of her own. Continuing to hold her bundle, she scanned the surroundings for a dying cookfire, abandoned by its igniters. She noticed one a short way off. Walking up over to it—while responding respectfully to the murmured respects paid to her by Renly's men—she quickly and unceremoniously threw her bundle into the fire. She stood there until she could be sure her dress, and the contemptible pink cloak, had caught fire. Then she left.

Margaery had taken to supping with her boys. They were on their last course, some sort of lemoncake. She enjoyed their company, of course—Renly's japes, Loras's affection—but of late they had proven quite useful. After a talking-to by Margaery, Loras had begun trying to work with her to convince her husband to go about his husbandly duties. Subtle digs about his masculinity, or Loras's passing on of ("obviously false, of course!") gossip from the camp hadn't yet proved effective. Today, however, Loras had attempted bringing up how much he had always wanted a nephew, especially because Garlan hadn't yet provided him with one. To this, Renly had lapsed into an uncharacteristic and mildly alarming silence.

Into this silence, Margaery decided to interject some hope. "Renly, my husband, I noticed your clothes were back from the washerwoman. You must so appreciate having clean clothes."

"What?" said Renly. "Oh, yes. Clean clothes. Very nice."

"Well," Margaery said, "When the washerwoman brought them back, I happened to notice that, well, your pink cloak..." She trailed off a bit, as if asking him to say 'Which pink cloak?'

"Yes?" said Renly. The brief moment of animatedness that had come with her sudden topic change disappeared. "That cloak is very special to me."

"Very special," echoed Loras woodenly, not hiding the fact he knew exactly what pink cloak she was talking about.

Margaery nodded as if she didn't notice their distinct lack of enthusiasm. "Right. Your pink cloak. Well, I'm terribly sorry to say it, but... I think your washerwoman somehow misplaced it."

"_Misplaced _it?" said Renly, suddenly sitting straighter in his chair. Loras was grinning slightly, crumbs of lemoncake around his mouth. The grin disappeared quickly before Renly noticed.

"Yes, my husband," said Margaery. "Sad to say, it is gone."

"Gone?" exlcaimed Renly. "Oh dear. How horrible."

"A great shame," said Loras cheerfully.

"Shall we punish the washerwoman who lost that garment? It seemed quite important to you and your prayers, and I wouldn't want—"

"Gods, no!" said Renly. "Don't even suggest such a thing!"

"No, of course not!" said Loras, entirely abandoning the pretense that Margaery didn't know what the pink cloak was for.

"Are you sure? I know your feelings about the treatment of servants, but I think that—" said Margaery.

"Leniency in all matters!" said Renly.

"Silly! Foolish! Stupid!" insisted Loras.

"... and absurd beyond belief that we could punish some poor washerwoman for this act!" said Renly.

Margaery tried to look taken aback by their vehemence, or, at the very least, to keep from laughing. "Alright, then," she said, smiling in a self-satisfied manner. "If that is all, my lord husband, I believe I have eaten my fill."

"You are excused, then," said Renly, smiling at her. _He does have a gorgeous smile_, said Margaery. _Shame my brother has all the luck_.

Margaery stood up and curtseyed slightly, then kissed Renly and Loras on their cheeks and bid them good night. As she walked out of her husband's tent and back to her own, she overhead Renly asking Loras, quietly, "And just _what _have you been discussing with your sweet sister about..." before the tent flap closed.


End file.
